


Mo Shuile Togam Suas (I will lift up my eyes)

by Galadriel



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Angst, Beginnings, Canon Compliant, Endings, M/M, Master/Apprentice, Memories, Mentor/Protégé, Rituals, Teacher-Student Relationship, Traditions, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-16
Updated: 2000-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon reflects on the past as Obi-Wan graduates from Padawan to Knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mo Shuile Togam Suas (I will lift up my eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> Written from Qui-Gon's point of view (which surprised the heck out of me), this 'fic marks the second piece of fiction in all my years of writing that I have finished in one short sitting. Imagine that! I can no longer distinguish between canon and fanon, so thank you to all the fanfic writers out there who have contributed to and shaped our shared mythology.

Smiling broadly, Qui-Gon leaned forward and brushed the young man's braid with his knuckles, the soft strands rasping gently across his skin. The bright blue-green eyes shone up at him briefly before returning to the task at hand. His Padawan was not willing to leave their quarters until each detail of his uniform was exact. He tugged at the crisp folds, straightened his sash for the umpteenth time, and checked the shine of his lightsabre hilt, appraising the entire outfit for stray wrinkles and imaginary stains. _He may be twenty-five,_ thought Qui-Gon, with more than a trace of nostalgia, _but today he's as nervous as a teenage boy._ A shy smile broke free of Obi-Wan's concentrated frown as he caught sight of himself in the mirror behind his Master.

"Now Obi-Wan, remember the follies of vanity." Qui-Gon, absorbed in memorizing his student's face, barely restrained the grin that threatened to shatter his stern reprimand. "You are still my Padawan, if only for the next..." He consulted with the room's datestamp. "...fourty-five minutes. There is still time for you to learn from your old Master." Flipping the rope of hair over the young man's shoulder, he traced the faint outline of bare collarbone between neck and tunic. "I will miss our lessons," he whispered.

The blinding happiness dimmed slightly in the face of such sentiment. "As will I, Master. As will I." He brightened again as a spark caught fire in his mind. "It need not be so, Qui-Gon." His name, shaped with those lips, missing the proper title, sounded strangely natural. "I could... I would like to request that the Council allow my assignment to you be continued." There. It was finally out in the open, the words that both had sensed hovering between them throughout the final years of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship. Somehow, Qui-Gon was not surprised in the least that it was the student, not the teacher, who finally had the courage to speak. A tiny part of his mind chastised him for lacking that very same courage.

"We have, for all intents and purposes, been as close to equals as is possible in a teaching relationship for the past two years." The sentences were overly formal, as if they had been rehearsed until all avenues were explored and the phrasing was just right. "I have friends my own age. I feel free to speak my mind when I don't agree with you. I _want_ to be with you, Qui-Gon. I can't imagine my life without you. Twenty-five years by your side doesn't even begin to scratch the surface..." He trailed off, his pre-prepared argument losing steam in the face of his Master's silence. The silence grew longer, heavier, as the weight of his confession, veiled as it was, pressed down upon him.

After what seemed an interminable pause, Obi-Wan coughed gently, wordlessly asking for an answer.

"Quintessentially Obi-Wan Kenobi." Qui-Gon smiled and grasped the young man's shoulders. "You always had a talent for parrying all my objections before the conversation had even begun... My Obi-Wan." Asked and answered, the two embraced quickly before returning to their preparations. Qui-Gon once again grasped the braid that would soon join the older coil of his first student, safe in a simple wooden box given to him by that same woman. After her Knighting (and Xanatos' turning) he had been sure that he would never experience such happiness again, but this boy...this _man_ had given it all back to him and more.

For that he was forever grateful.

They had decided on beads. Qui-Gon unknotted the ties binding the strands together, holding the hair loosely in his palm as he slipped three glittering glass beads into place. Black... red... blue. Once in place, they added a minuscule amount of extra strain to the plait, obvious only to the wearer. He held its weight in his hand, not wanting to let go, half-afraid that with the impending cut would come the loss of his earliest memories of his Padawan. The phantom fear was almost paralysing.

He had attended more Knighting ceremonies than he could count, and every one of them engendered strong feelings of pride not only in the Master and student, but also in every senior Temple member, himself included. A Knighting marked both the successful completion of the first stage of a Jedi's career, and a reaffirmation of the bond between every past, present and future Force-sensitive.

The public Knighting ceremony was essentially a reception in which the Council recognized the student's ascension into the Order while all the Temple members available gathered to congratulate their newest members and have a little fun. The real ritual occurred in private, blessed by the Council, between Master and Padawan. Swift and simple, the severing of the Padawan braid was nonetheless an emotional moment; Qui-Gon knew all this, had gone through it before, yet he never felt entirely prepared.

Obi-Wan, oblivious to his Master's roiling emotions, shook his head, pulling the braid free and laughing at the sensation of the beads against his cheek. Their eyes locked and the Padawan nodded.

"Ready?" The teacher breathed the question into the air, unsheathing the short silver knife riding on his hip.

"Ready."

Grinning, Qui-Gon kissed his now-Padawan, soon-to-be-Knight gently on the cheek, grasped the braided hair and severed it in one clean stroke...

...And awoke with beads of blood twining between his fingers and those same blue-green eyes looking down at him, clouded by unshed tears. One frail hand... were these _his_ hands? ...moved to trace the familiar curve of Obi-Wan's cheekbone. He knew his lips were moving, but it was as if he was listening to himself through a thick padding of gauze. As the world narrowed, Qui-Gon could feel the end of his Padawan's braid sweep over his neck, freed from behind his shoulder as the young man leaned forward. Cupping his Master's face as it went slack, the tears began to fall...


End file.
